54. Lilith
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
S weat dripped down my spine, pooling at the base of my back. My skin burned, every inch of me tingling, thrumming. I rolled my shoulders, trying to breathe through it, but the tightness in my chest only worsened.
My fingers dug into the fabric of my leggings as I braced my hands on my knees, trying to gain some semblance of dignity.
I was seeing double. Or maybe that was just death approaching.
“You’re still leading with your wrist. You’re gonna break your damn hand before you break anyone’s face, dude.”
I wheezed. Not in response—just in general, and without looking up, lifted one shaky hand, middle finger raised. “Shut the fuck up, Finn.”
This was a mistake. A horrible, life-altering, body destroying mistake.
“Right. Get up. Come on,” he said. “First, fix your stance. Feet apart. Balance your weight. Hands up.”
I moved, shifting into something that felt a little more solid.
He lifted up the training pads. “You’re dropping your left. Keep your guard up.”
I gritted my teeth and adjusted.
“Good. Now hit.”
I did. Hard. The impact snapped through the air, but he barely moved, bracing against it.
“Better,” he said. “But you’re still relying on just your arms. Engage your core. Drive from the ground up.”
I blinked at him, still catching my breath. “Finn, I don’t fucking know what ‘ engage your core’ means.”
He sighed. “Okay, imagine—”
“If you say ‘ imagine you’re about to get punched,’ I swear to—”
“Just tighten your abs. Use your whole body, not just your arm. ”
I rolled my eyes but adjusted and tried to tense whatever muscles were hidden under my stomach.
Finn nodded. “That’s it. Another.”
I did. Again. Harder.
“Better,” he said. “You good for defence?”
I hesitated. Not much. Only a second. But he caught it.
“Slow, controlled. I’ll call it before I move. That okay?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” he said, lifting the pad slowly. “First one’s low. Left side.”
He moved toward my ribs—carefully, predictably, exactly like he said he would. I blocked it. The motion was awkward, but it was there.
“Good,” he said. “Again. Right side this time.”
Another slow, deliberate tap with the pad. No surprises. No sudden moves.
I blocked.
“Nice! Hands up. Next one’s higher—shoulder level.”
I almost missed, catching it a second too late.
“You’re fine,” he said immediately. “Reset. We go again when you’re ready.”
I didn’t move right away. My heart was still pounding, breath uneven, but not from exhaustion.
I let my hands drop, rolling my shoulders as I tried to re-centre myself.
I wasn’t used to this, the feeling of pushing back instead of just bracing for impact.
Of hitting instead of just waiting to be hit.
“You don’t have to do this, you know that, right?”
“I do,” I said, flexing my fingers at my sides.
“You really don’t. We have it locked down. I promise.”
I knew that. I did. But tell that to Silas.
He was so far gone, I didn’t know what to do. He’d barely spoken to me in weeks. Barely even looked at me. Too caught up in the hunt to realise how much he was hurting me and himself.
During a self-pity shower, I’d had a revelation. A slightly unhinged, but entirely necessary revelation that Dr. Hayes most definitely wouldn’t have approved of.
If I could show Silas that I could defend myself, that I’d be okay, then maybe he’d ease up a little. Maybe he’d calm down. Maybe he’d stop losing himself long enough to remember that life existed outside of it.
Finn had been pretty on board with it, but that didn’t stop him from giving me at least fifty opportunities to stop over the last week.
But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to learn.
Because this wasn’t about hitting or proving myself to Silas. Not really.
This was about taking back my power. Proving to myself I was strong.
“Heads up!”
A water bottle came flying at me.
“You could’ve just handed it to me, you know.” I twisted off the cap and took a long sip. I needed it. My whole body was lead, arms aching, shoulders sore, legs vibrating with weird, exhausted shakiness that made me feel like a newborn deer. But it felt kind of good.
Maybe this was why people worked out. Some weird masochistic ritual that made you feel like you’d earned your suffering. Maybe I should’ve started sooner, started working out earlier in life.
No. Stupid thought. Next joke.
I looked out at the view of the city beneath us. Thousands of moving pieces, cars weaving through the streets like blood pumping through veins, people shifting like cells in something bigger. Distant. Tiny.
“Graves will fucking kill me if he catches us doing this,” Finn muttered.
I scoffed, taking another sip. “He’s never here anymore. I could throw a kegger in the bedroom, adopt an elephant and open a blackjack table in the kitchen, and he wouldn’t even notice.”
“Fair point,” he snorted then shook out his arms. “Alright. Enough punches. Come on.”
I rolled my neck, groaning. “If you make me do push-ups again, I’m taking you to the garden and throwing you over the edge.”
“Relax, psycho. We’re doing holds.”
“What’s that?”
“Holds.”
I frowned. “Keep repeating the word. Please.”
“It means if someone grabs you, you know how to get them the fuck off you.”
“Oh. Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like a good time.”
He grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now, if someone grabs you, what do you do?”
“Scream. Cry. Piss myself.”
“Dude. No.”
I smirked, stretching out my fingers. “You sure? Seems like a solid plan. High success rate, minimal effort.”
“No,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If someone grabs you, you break their hold then go for soft targets.”
“Like their feelings?”
“Like their nose, Lilith.”
“Damn. Harsh.”
“Yeah, I’m a monster. Anyway, come here.”
He stepped forward, hands moving slowly as he placed his arms around me in a loose hold—not tight, not restrictive, just enough to mimic the real thing.
“Alright. If someone grabs you from the front, your first instinct is to…?”
“Break their nose. Got it.”
“Jesus, no. I told you, you get out of the hold first. Then you hit them.”
I rolled my eyes but let him show me, following the careful way he shifted his weight, the way he loosened his grip enough to demonstrate.
“Now, if you want to really get them off of you, a knee to the groin is your best friend,” he continued. “But please, for the love of God, don’t actually do it hard. I pride myself on my dick and balls.”
I grimaced, jerking back immediately. “Oh my God.”
“I’m serious. You ruin them, I ruin you. That’s the deal. Now see it through. Break the hold, soft target, knee if necessary.”
I hesitated for a split second, shifting my weight.
“Lilith,” his voice flattened to something quieter. “No thinking. Just do it.”
I exhaled, shook out my hands, and moved.
Twisting my wrist free was easy—he let me have it, let me find the motion myself—and before I could talk myself out of it, I followed through, palm slamming up into his sternum, weight shifting forward.
Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he had to step back.
His eyebrows lifted. “Huh.”
I squinted at him. “‘Huh?’ What does ‘huh’ mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you can’t just ‘huh’ me and leave it at that. Was that good? Bad? Are you stunned by my raw, untapped potential?”
“I mean, obviously.” He stretched out his arms. “I’m just wondering if I should be concerned about what you’ll do with all this power.”
“You’ve created a beast.”
“Yeah, well, hindsight’s a bitch. Alright, pack it up. We’re done for the day.”
I furrowed my brows. “No, we aren’t.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t learn it all this quickly. You think it took me a few hours to get like this?” He ripped his shirt off over his head and flexed. He actually flexed. Biceps, shoulders, the whole thing.
I blinked. Because what the fuck?
He wasn’t built like Silas. He didn’t have that coiled, lethal kind of look that made it look like he could kill a man with one hand and still make it home in time for dinner.
But apparently, he had muscle. A lot of it.
And tattoos. Everywhere. A patchwork mess sprawled across his arms and chest. I’d never noticed them at all until right now. A paper plane, an anatomical heart tangled in flowers, a swit chblade, a deck of cards, something that looked suspiciously like a cartoon frog wearing a crown.
I frowned. Disgusting.
Finn grinned. “Enjoying the view there?”
“No, I’m enjoying imagining you pulling something while trying to flex.”
When we reached the kitchen, I popped the fridge open, scouring for lunch. “If I don’t eat something in the next five minutes, I’m gonna die, and it’ll be your fault.”
He rifled through a cabinet, completely unconcerned. “Not my problem.”
I squinted, pulling out some leftover pasta. “You want some?”
He snatched the box out of my hand. “Obviously.”
“Excuse you?” I snatched the box back. “Mine.”
He raised a brow. “You didn’t even want it two seconds ago.”
“Yeah, but I do now. That’s how food works.”
I turned to grab a fork, but he reached over and stole the box again.
“Finn, I swear to God—”
“Relax,” he said, tossing it back onto the counter. “Jesus. You fight dirtier than Graves.”
I rolled my eyes, pulling out a plate. “Good. That’s the point.”
He didn’t respond as he leaned against the counter, letting the silence drag for a minute.
“Listen, I know you wanna throw punches and get strong. I get it. But I’m good for more than that, okay?
” His fingers tapped against the bottle.
“You’ve got me now. I know I’m new, but…
I’m here. And you’ve got Red too. You know that, right?
” He paused, watching me closely. “You’ve always got someone to talk to. I mean it.”
I dropped the pasta onto the plate and shoved it in the microwave, exhaling slowly. “I know.”
“Yeah? Because I’ve seen it before. People thinking they’re better off dealing with their shit alone.” He dragged a hand through his sandy hair. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”
I frowned, shutting the microwave door a little too hard.
“There’s always someone here, okay?” he continued. “Always. Even if you don’t feel like talking—hell, even if you wanna sit in silence. I’ll be here. I promise.”
“God, you’re really laying it on thick, huh?”
His mouth twitched.
“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat, straightening up a little. “I’m not losing anyone else. Not if I can help it.”
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t go down. Anyone else? What did that mean? “Finn…”
“No, it’s f ine.” His voice was gruff. “I just—look, I know what it’s like.
Feeling like you’re on your own. Like no one’s gonna get it, or that it’s easier to keep it to yourself because talking about it is too fucking exhausting.
” His fingers flexed on the counter. “I get it, okay? But don’t—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening.
“Just… don’t do that. Don’t close yourself off like that. ”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t even look at him. Instead, I pulled my plate from the microwave and stared down at it, picking at my food like it might somehow fill the ache swelling in my chest.
“I mean it,” Finn said, quieter this time. “I know I’m not Silas. I know I’m not the person you really want right now. But I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I looked up. His eyes locked right onto mine. Hard, serious, and so damn sincere it nearly knocked the breath out of me.
“I’m here,” he said again, softer this time. “You get me?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I get you.”
“Good.” His smile returned, goofy and wide. “Because I’m not the guy you wanna deal with if I have to kick your ass for going all self-destructive, alright?”
Before I could respond, he reached over and swiped a piece of pasta straight off my plate “Are we eating or what?” he said, chewing obnoxiously. “I’ve only got so much emotional range in me per day, and I think I just maxed out.”